Chapter Text
It took every ounce of willpower in Tanjiro’s chest to leave Nezuko in Kiriya and Kanata’s care when he set out.
On ordinary missions, when he was alone or tailing a normal group of two to four lower rank slayers, he was able to keep her by his side. But when it came to missions with higher rank slayers, or large groups, or pillars, he left her in the Ubuyashiki family’s care. Most often, that meant Kiriya and Kanata — the last two of the quintuplets, who mainly acted as guides for final selection. They were often busy with logistics, but the master had assured Tanjiro it would be a simple matter for them to keep an eye on her box for signs of consciousness while they worked.
“Of course, they also have guards posted outside of their doors,” Ubuyashiki had told him. “It is more a matter of our security than concern over Nezuko’s potential actions. We work very hard to keep this location private and hidden, but there is always an unfortunate possibility that he could find us.”
Every step that widened the distance between them left a tangible ache in his chest. Shinobu had upped some of his medications recently, which he found himself grateful for; it meant all the chest-aching was purely emotional, and not his lungs trying to exit his body, or his heart forgetting it was meant to keep an even pace.
He was especially grateful, because Shinobu had done so despite the awkward tension between them.
She had been… Less than pleased with what he’d proposed. But Ubuyashiki, apparently, had been aware of Tamayo for some time now, and encouraged her kindly to try to take advantage of the opportunity. He’d even said something about how, if they succeeded, she wouldn’t even be working with a demon, would she?
It had taken Tanjiro an embarrassing two full days to realise it was a joke. Ubuyashiki’s voice was just… So calm. So serious. It was hard to imagine him doing things like that, even if it had been one of the first things that had happened when they’d met.
But, regardless, Shinobu had agreed. The ever-present smell of her rage did seem to double every time he entered her view, though. It left a bad taste in his mouth.
When he’d spoken to her about it afterwards, privately, she’d been the most visibly upset he’d ever seen. Her shoulders were tense, and there was a wrinkle between her brows. Most concerning — or, at least, the most notable thing — was the lack of her constant, soft smile. It was the first time he’d seen it disappear for so long.
It was nice, to see her beginning to express what she was actually feeling, but it did kind of suck that what she was feeling was a lot of anger directed at him.
He sighed, breaking off to hack into the sleeve of his haori. He was faintly relieved to see it unbloodied, and then just faint as his head spun after the coughing fit.
This was the first of a handful of more important missions Ubuyashiki had planned for him over the next few weeks, and the only one whose location was known as of yet. All the master could tell him at their meeting was that he’d be working with whichever of the hashira checked in within the next month or so, in order to become acquainted with them.
Unlike a normal kakushi, he’d be more directly involved in pillar missions, and he’d been informed that some of the pillars themselves had… Unique dispositions. Feisty personalities, Ubuyashiki had said, lips curled like an amused cat. It settled a slightly foreboding feeling into Tanjiro’s gut, alongside the faint, burning ache of his newest maladie.
Shinobu called them stomach ulcers. He called them a literal pain in his side. He’d been hurling more than he’d been hungering for, and it had begun to show in his sallow cheeks; every stay at the mansion was marked with Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho pestering him to eat more. They’d begun to ease off after the third time they held his hair back while he heaved into a basin, but the worried scrunch of their little faces reminded him so vividly of how his younger siblings reacted to his sick fits that he couldn’t help but comply.
With a gentle tone that didn’t match the devastation it elicited, Ubuyashiki had suggested he stop carrying Nezuko for a little while, until they could be assured that hauling around her weight wasn’t part of why he’d begun to worsen after plateauing for a few months.
So far, he’d only met two of the hashira properly — Shinobu and Giyuu — though he’d spied the tell-tale golden buttons on a despondent looking boy who he often saw wandering the mansion grounds from afar, both the Ubuyashiki’s and the butterfly estate.
He looked awfully young to take on pillar duties. Barely as old as Tanjiro had been when he’d come home to bloody tatami and dead little brothers and sisters and a cold, corpse of a mother and.
The maybe-hashira was barely as old as Tanjiro had been when he started training with Urokodaki.
It worried him, more than just a bit, to think about the future of the corps. How long could they feasibly go on for?
The sickening thought haunted him, right alongside the fear of Nezuko outliving him, of what he’d have to do if she ate someone, of what he wouldn’t do if she did.
Long gone were the typical fears of an eldest son; what will I do if my mother dies before I do was his reality, and he didn’t have to worry about supporting four siblings on his own. Only one, and she still hadn’t woken up.
What will Nezuko do if I die of this sickness just like our father was greatly overshadowed by the knowledge she might just go on sleeping until long after his bones return to dust, if he never found a cure.
Aoi had given him a cane, about a week ago.
He had nothing against using it, if it helped him walk better and farther and do more and more and more, but he considered his sword and the cane’s long, straight shape and asked a favour.
Haganezuka was among the weirder of the corps members he’d ever met, but the man was frightfully excited to make him a proper sword, one he’d paint himself and not one already tinged blue by Urokodaki’s hands.
Tanjiro sighed again, reaching up to adjust the straps of Nezuko’s box when he couldn’t feel the sharp, painful tug of it against his shoulders, only to stop when he gripped nothing but haori.
The cavernous ache of loneliness yawned open in his chest again, and he scratched at the scar on his forehead.
He steeled himself, gritting his teeth and tightening the strap of his paper kakushi mask, until it dug into the tops of his ears enough that he knew they’d be red in a few minutes. It wouldn’t do to falter now, not when they’d just begun figuring out a roadmap to the end of all this.
Lady Tamayo’s writings were sparse, weeks passing between each letter, but she’d sworn up and down that Nezuko’s cells were progressing steadily, and she should wake soon. Any day now. Any day, which included a hundred years from now and also yesterday and tomorrow.
He should be there with her.
He should be there with her, but he had a job to do and a mission and Matsuemon looked like he was about ready to start shrieking again if he didn’t pick up the pace, so Tanjiro forced one foot to fall in front of the other as he set off to meet a hashira.